


The Two Things Go Together

by Verecunda



Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell & Related Fandoms, Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell (TV), Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-06
Updated: 2017-05-06
Packaged: 2018-10-28 21:56:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10840230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Verecunda/pseuds/Verecunda
Summary: Mr Norrell observes a change in his pupil after his return from the Peninsula, but does not understand, not yet.





	The Two Things Go Together

Mr Norrell’s joy at his pupil’s return from the war was such that it was not until some time later - long after the disagreeable distractions of Childermass’ shooting and the news that he had lost forty books to French artillery fire - that he noticed any thing amiss. At first he was simply too relieved to find Mr Strange whole and healthy (especially after that dreadful rumour about his being killed at Vittoria), and so it was only later that he began to perceive any difference in him. Even then, these differences seemed slight enough. His dark hair was now lightly threaded with grey, and although he was pleased to tell any one who would listen that he had been in the Peninsula, he shewed a reticence over the particulars that might be considered surprizing. But since Mr Norrell did not much care to hear of soldiers and distant battles, it did not occur to him to think this odd. Indeed, on the whole, he was inclined to regard Mr Strange’s service in the Peninsula as an unfortunate hiatus which, having now come to an end, could be put behind them and forgotten whilst they both returned to the more vital business of restoring English magic.

There was, however, one difference that engaged his attention. He first observed it on an otherwise unremarkable afternoon soon after the recommencement of their lessons, when he was expounding on a spell he thought they might attempt.

“It is one of Doncaster’s more obscure spells,” he said as he searched for the right page in the book, “but I believe, Mr Strange, that between us we may make a tolerable success of it. If you would be so good as to pass me that mirror on the table beside you.”

“Certainly, sir.” Strange lifted the mirror in his right hand and held it out to him. But barely had Mr Norrell reached out to take it from him than Strange’s hand gave a sudden jerk: he fumbled, the mirror slipped from his grasp and shattered into many pieces on the floor.

“D—n,” said Strange flatly.

Mr Norrell was so accustomed to his pupil’s habitual expressiveness that this queer, uncharacteristic lack of emotion in his voice caused him to look up with a frown. Strange did not look back at him: instead he looked at his hand, and Mr Norrell followed his gaze.

“Oh, Mr Strange, you are trembling.”

Strange gave his hand an odd look, as if he were not entirely sure what it was, and was quite put out to find that he had such a thing attached to the end of his arm. But it lasted only a moment, then his expression seemed to clear.

“I am sorry, sir.”

“It is no matter,” said Mr Norrell quickly. “I will ring for one of the housemaids to sweep it up. But, Mr Strange, are you feeling quite well? Are you feverish? We may postpone the lesson for today, if you would prefer.” He himself was no stranger to colds and fevers and all their attendant tremblings, and knew very well how they interfered with one’s ability to concentrate on even the simplest spells.

But Strange shook his head, slowly. “No, sir. No, I shall be better directly.”

He was indeed better directly; his hand no longer shook, and the lesson continued so successfully that the incident was put quite out of Mr Norrell’s mind. He might even have forgotten it entirely, were it not for the other times - only very seldom, and very fleeting when they did come - when he would look at Strange and observe him in some state of abstraction, his right hand held out before him and trembling visibly, before he curled it into a tight fist; or the times they drank tea together and he heard the loud rattle of porcelain as Strange’s cup shook upon its saucer.

But even then, these moments claimed only a very momentary hold upon his attention, for by then there were other, more pressing aspects of Strange’s behaviour that troubled Mr Norrell, and the occasional tremor in his right hand was soon swept out of mind, lost in the swiftly-gathering current of obsession, recklessness, and enmity that was to carry Strange away from him.

It was only later that he remembered, as he stood beside Strange in his library at Hurtfew, his hand shaking about a lighted taper, and confessed that he was afraid.

“My hands trembled like that in the Peninsula and after Waterloo,” replied Strange softly. “Sometimes it was a sign that I was afraid; sometimes a sign that I was doing great magic. The two things go together.”

And at long last, Mr Norrell understood. And he remembered, even after they had done their great magic together and had been drawn beyond the sky, after they had left the more baleful effects of the Darkness behind, after Jonathan had recovered and found a way to say goodbye to his wife. As they looked forward to the Other Lands and undiscovered magic that now lay before them, Mr Norrell was not greatly surprized when one day Jonathan looked down at his right hand and muttered, “Oh, Lord.”

Sure enough, Mr Norrell saw that Jonathan’s right hand was trembling. Without thinking twice, he reached out and took it between both of his own. It continued to twitch and quiver in his grasp, as if it would throw him off, but he held on diligently, rubbing it between his palms and brushing the long fingers with his own, applying every comforting touch and pressure he could think of until gradually, gradually, the trembling lessened, and at last Jonathan’s hand lay still in his.

With a grim cast to his usual ironical expression, Jonathan remarked, “You would think, would you not, sir, that after all we have been through, the memory of the Peninsula would lose some of its sting?”

“On the contrary,” said Mr Norrell, “I think it only natural that our situation should recall you to your exertions during the war. You said that it was a sign of great magic as well as fear, and we have a considerable amount of great magic ahead of us, Jonathan. I have never doubted your courage in such matters, but I do believe a degree of trepidation is wholly appropriate. As you said, the two things go together.”

At this, Jonathan smiled, and laid his remaining hand over Mr Norrell’s. “Indeed they do, sir.”


End file.
